Excelano Project presents…Lords of the Fly: April 2nd & April 3rd
Posted by Chloe Wayne | Filed under Announcements
Excelano Project presents…Lords of the Fly
Spring 2010 Show
Penn’s premier spoken word collective is having its spring show this coming weekend! Do not miss your chance to come out and see the sickest display of filthy poetic awesomeness in the western hemisphere!
Tickets on the walk every day starting Monday. Pick em up early because they will sell out!
April 2 & 3 @ 8pm
Dunlop Auditorium
$8 on the walk
$10 at the door
$9 ONLINE
Maybe, Me
Posted by Marion Smallwood | Filed under Poetry, Print
maybe my marrow melts,
maybe my minutes mesh.
my minesweeper mind might mend,
might make Miles mince,
might move marble moments.
my mondays meet midyear.
my mid-sentence meanings make more.
maybe makeshift morgues match memories.
maybe my malnourished members mime.
may my mouth minimize mourning:
make me matter,
make millions matter.
more manmade millenniums,
more midday movements.
more midwives, more meaning.
maybe, monogamy.
maybe,
me.
The End
Posted by Chloe Wayne | Filed under Poetry, Print
to my best friend:
i know one day you will unlearn the algebra of his face. on nights when insomnia jackknifes its way across your eyelids, you will unfeel the cold in its blade.
its been three years. you’ve been trying to find a wrinkle of rainbow in your bruises, a rainbow you swear he put there back when he’d look at you that way. eyes clinging, he is chewing gum.
and sometimes your footsteps lose themselves in translation, but i know you’ll leave him. i know you’ll find your eyes again. you used to sing from the green melting into your pupils, there were mockingbirds there. you marooned them on a question mark two years ago. they’re silent, but i hear them smiling. breasts bursting like banana trees on fire and a song in undertow. they haven’t died yet.
Allergy
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
i think your skin is
born of bumblebees
not the kind that sting
the kind that comb
elbow through mess just to prove that
something can come of chaos
hover hum between flailing and dying
and find honey in the wingspan
of the air between our noses
it baffles me
how a swarm of laughter can silence
every qualm my hands have ever had
how the cacophony of your breath
can drum my thoughts into
the hexagon of your smile
i wish i understood the allergy of distance
the cloud caught truth
that you cant outgrow giants
or mothers scorn
or six hours airborne
wish i could ease with will
the hive that swells lip and flesh
to the knot of stories in our knees
that cant seem to come undone
the ones that fret like fire and
slither like steam
through the thicket of today
they are the seed of you
make my tongue sound spring
and lose the lisp of winter
why is it that women must be linguists
i pray they forget how to spell
long enough to learn the names
of the boys in their back pockets
